


pretty in pink

by hereforlou



Series: the au where they're still famous musicians and harry's spoiled and they have two dogs [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beard Burn, Body Hair, Established Relationship, M/M, Rimming, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22902763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforlou/pseuds/hereforlou
Summary: Louis pulls back, lips tingling, and blinks his eyes open. The first thing he notices is how flushed Harry’s face is, how swollen and pink his lips have gotten. Then he notices that it’s not just his lips, but the skin around his mouth looks rubbed raw, and Louis reels further back.“Shit,” Louis says. “Sorry, baby.”(Or, the one where there’s beard burn.)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: the au where they're still famous musicians and harry's spoiled and they have two dogs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675543
Comments: 18
Kudos: 348
Collections: Hairy Styles Pubefest 2020





	pretty in pink

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyouthankyouthankyouuuuu Nic <3
> 
> **Prompt #26: Harry has a fetish for guys with facial hair/beards eating his ass and making him raw. Maybe the story revolves around person B wanting to shave and harry being sad? And then smut!.**
> 
> Here's a [Tumblr](https://hereforlou.tumblr.com/post/614049602276065280/pretty-in-pink-complete-6k-louis-pulls-back-lips) post.
> 
> And here it is in [Italian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24768745?view_adult=true) by [lxvetoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxvetoms/pseuds/lxvetoms)

“What’re you doing?”

Louis’ arm jerks in surprise. It’s lucky he’s used to Harry sneaking up on him or his morning would have ended up a little more bloody than he likes. He lowers the razor from his face and meets Harry’s eye in the mirror. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

The scowl on Harry’s reflection gets a little more pronounced. They got out of the shower a few minutes ago and Harry is sporting his usual towel turban and puffy robe. Louis thought he’d have a moment to get ready while Harry put the kettle on, but apparently Harry has a radar for when Louis’ about to do something he won’t like, because it doesn’t look like he’s ever even left the bedroom.

“It looks like you’re about to shave,” he says. 

“Good job, darling. Wasn’t sure you knew what a razor looks like anymore.”

Harry doesn’t rise to the bait. He always enjoys letting himself go a bit when he has time off, and Louis actually appreciates that he does. Their professional lives force them to keep a certain level of grooming while they’re active that always feels nice to shrug off as soon as they have a break. No matter how shabby, though, Louis usually isn’t one to pick on him for his looks (unless he knows Harry’ll enjoy it) but they’ve been bickering on and off since last night and not even their shower together has cooled them off enough to stop. 

Just like every time Louis has to leave for work and he has to stay behind, Harry is being a little shit. Clingy and sweet to the point of being unbereable, petty as fuck if Louis asks for a second to himself. There he is now, arms crossed and hip cocked, staring Louis down from the bathroom doorway.

“I need to get ready,” Louis tells him, waggling the razor for emphasis.

“Do you?”

“Car’s gonna be here soon.”

“Right,” Harry grumbles. Louis squints at him through the mirror, unsure if it’ll be safe to go on or not. Harry seems to be mulling something over, and while Louis thinks he looks quite dear in his post-shower getup with the little pout on his face, he really is in a hurry. 

“Right, then,” he says and faces his own reflection again. His eyes still look heavy with sleep, and half his face is lathered in shaving cream. He isn’t going to bother with his hair because he knows there’ll be someone at the venue who will sort it out for him. He also knows they’ll put enough makeup on him to hide all evidence of a night spent being slowly smothered by a grown man and their two dogs, but it’s still a depressing sight when he can see his age so clearly on every little blemish on his skin. 

He’s still lost in his staring contest with himself when he feels Harry moving closer. Louis braces himself for having to wrestle his long, heavy limbs off, but instead of draping himself around Louis, Harry hops up and sits his bum down on the counter, knee nudging Louis’ hip. 

“Don’t see why you’ve got to shave,” he says, head tilted back against the mirror.

“Well, I look a little haggard, don’t I?”

“You look lovely,” Harry counters, looking completely serious, not a hint of a flirty tilt to his voice. Louis gives him a quick once over and rolls his eyes.

“Nah, we both look like a right mess, love.”

Harry frowns and runs a palm down his own bristly cheek. The thing about Harry’s beard is that it takes ages to fill out. It’s patchy and looks kind of ridiculous even when it’s grown out, soft to the touch instead of prickly like Louis’. Louis only puts up with it because it’s on  _ Harry’s _ face and at this point it would take something truly terrible to put him off — he can still admit it isn’t Harry’s greatest asset, though. 

There was a time, years ago, when Harry used to shave more than his face. His chest used to be smooth, his belly, even his legs sometimes. It made him soft to the touch, it made their bodies slide and glide easily together. 

These days, Harry isn’t as thorough, but he’s  _ especially _ messy when they’ve had long periods of time to themselves. By now, it’s been a couple of weeks home where they haven’t really left longer than a few hours to attend a party or two, and Harry is looking appropriately unkempt. Louis can see a few chest hairs peeking out from the opening of his robe, has spent enough time with his nose pressed to Harry’s navel to know intimately everything that’s going on down there, too.

Harry has no business frowning at Louis when he’s simply telling the truth — they are both a bit of a mess at the moment. Certainly in no shape to attend a public event. 

He turns back towards his reflection and lifts the razor again, only for Harry to reach out and grab at his wrist, stopping him.

“Do mine first,” he says, jutting his chin out.

“What? Weren’t you going for a proper one this time?” 

“I'll have to get rid of it before Friday anyway,” Harry replies, which is quite sensible of him and instantly makes Louis suspicious. Harry isn’t anything if not competitive down to his very bones — he said he’s going for a proper Gandalf and Louis fully expects him to try until the last possible minute. Friday is still two days away, he can probably manage to sprout an extra three or four hairs by then.

“You sure? I’d have to make it quick,” Louis warns him, but he’s already turning the faucet on and washing the shaving cream off his face. In turn, Harry’s blindly lathering his own cheeks with it, back still pressed to the mirror. Louis meant to use the electric on Harry, but if he wants a close shave, Louis isn’t going to argue. He runs the razor under the water and steps between Harry’s legs.

With a little smirk, Harry locks his ankles together on the back of Louis’ thighs. Louis huffs through his nose, pushes the towel off Harry’s head and grabs a fistful of his hair (not hard enough to sting yet), tilting his head to the side.

“Stay still,” he says, and Harry merely stares at him under his lashes. He keeps staring as Louis drags the razor down the edge of his jaw, his cheeks, his chin, and above his upper lip. Louis keeps his focus on what he’s doing, rinsing the razor after each drag, turning Harry’s head this way and that and ignoring the way the grip Louis has on his hair makes Harry’s face flush darker and darker. He can feel Harry’s legs tightening their hold around his hips, and he doesn’t need to look down to know Harry’s robe is starting to gape the more Harry sags against the mirror. With each drag of the razor, more and more of Harry’s skin is exposed, pink and smooth and tender. 

“Don’t move,” Louis reminds him quietly, eyes set on the tricky spot below one of Harry’s ears. He’s gotten shaving cream on the hair curling over his neck and for some reason Louis finds it endearing. He’s clearly beyond all hope. “Don’t wanna nick you.”

“You won’t,” Harry mutters and Louis moves the razor away and pulls on his damp hair, making Harry gasp.  _ “Ow. _ Sorry.”

Shaving Harry’s face is not exactly a sexy activity for Louis — especially when Harry has to keep twisting his mouth in silly ways to stretch the skin Louis needs to get at. Now, shaving his  _ legs _ used to be a different story, back when they used to play around like that. There wasn’t a time they did it that didn’t end up with them coming shortly after, Harry all slick with body lotion and finger-sized bruises on his thighs.

It makes Louis smile thinking about it, and he feels Harry’s eyes sharp on his face even as he pliantly lets Louis pull his head back to expose his neck. He works on the underside of Harry’s chin carefully, watching the fluttering of Harry’s racing pulse. 

By the time he’s done, Harry’s face is a nice, soft pink. Louis puts the razor down on the other side of the sink and reaches for a hand towel, still trapped between Harry’s legs. He wets a corner and gently wipes the leftover shaving cream, pleased that he doesn’t seem to have cut Harry anywhere. 

Ignoring the heady gaze still on him, Louis grabs one of the posh bottles of aftershave that Harry likes to buy for him and holds it up. Harry nods, and so Louis rubs a few drops into his hands and massages it into Harry cheeks, pressing in with his thumbs until Harry’s eyes start going a bit droopy. 

Then he curls his fingers on the back of Harry’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

Harry opens up for it, soft like putty for him. Louis licks into his mouth and presses up against the countertop, urging Harry to scoot towards the edge so that Louis can feel him. Harry obliges, slides closer using the grip around Louis’ hips for leverage, and then he’s pressing against his belly, already hard under the folds of his robe. 

Louis holds his neck with one hand and slides the other one up Harry’s fuzzy thigh, squeezing his fingers as he rubs up and down, already trying to figure out how much time they’ve got left. He isn’t planning on leaving for a week without one last fuck, even if they’ll have to settle for a rushed hanbdjob in their bathroom.

He’s inching his hand closer to Harry’s groin, already feeling the heat concentrating there on the backs of his fingers, when Harry lets out a little moan that sounds more hurt than turned on.

Louis pulls back, lips tingling, and blinks his eyes open. The first thing he notices is how flushed Harry’s face is, how swollen and pink his lips have gotten. Then he notices that it’s not just his lips, but the skin around his mouth looks rubbed raw, and Louis reels further back. 

“Shit,” Louis says. “Sorry, baby.”

“Don’t be.” Harry smirks and swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. Or rather, underneath it, right where his skin looks the most tender. “S’something to remember you by.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis tells him, starting to tug at the knot holding his robe closed. “And you’re filming in like two days. Don’t want to scratch your face off, do I.”

“Doesn’t have to be my face,” Harry says just as Louis manages to undo the tie at his waist. He stares as Louis looks down at his body, flushed chest rising and falling, cock heavy and hard and resting against the crease where his lovely, plump thigh begins.

_ “Well,” _ he says, meeting Harry’s eyes again and raising his eyebrows. Harry smiles back.

“You look really handsome when you’re concentrating.”

“You just like having all my attention on you.”

Harry gives a little lopsided shrug, dimple deepening a smidge more. 

“And we definitely don’t have time for whatever you’re thinking.”

“Come on,” Harry whines. “You don’t even have to leave today.”

“I’ve got a car—”

“Cancel it,” Harry says, tightening his grip around Louis and sliding even closer, pressing against Louis’ crotch. “You can leave tomorrow, it’s just a three-hour drive.”

“I’ve got other plans, too, you know,” Louis argues, even as his hands grab at Harry’s hips to hold him in place. “Things to do.”

Harry slumps against the mirror again and brings his hands up to rest against Louis’ bare chest. His thumbs brush Louis’ nipples and Louis’ hips jerk. 

“Haven’t finished getting ready, either.”

“You don't  _ need _ to shave,” Harry says, and Louis leans forward to rub a bristly cheek against Harry’s smooth one.

“You know I do,” he says into Harry’s ear. 

There are certain events Louis likes to look especially neat for. He’s making an appearance at a children’s charity and he wants to look proper role model-like. Clean shaven and like he gets a solid eight-hour sleep every night. He likes to spend the night before these things alone in a hotel room, sprawled across a king-sized bed and one phone call away from whatever his fancy may be. 

Harry purses his lips, palms big and warm on Louis’ torso. He’s not exactly a fan of Louis’ little solo ritual. 

“Shave tomorrow, then, when I don’t have to see it.” There’s some bite to his tone now, and Louis grins against his jaw. His back is starting to hurt from bending down, but this way he can feel Harry still hard and pressed to his belly. 

“No, I think I’ll shave now. S’my face and all, think I should be in charge of what happens to it.”

“It’s my face, too,” Harry grumbles, sliding his hands around Louis to rest over the small of his back. The tips of his fingers slip underneath the waistband of his joggers, pushing the worn fabric down. He trails kisses across Louis’ cheek until he reaches his lips again, and Louis kisses back, pushing his weight down. 

Unlike Harry, Louis needs trimming before shaving, and since he managed to do that before Harry came in and interrupted the whole process, his beard is especially scratchy. He can feel the way it drags roughly against Harry’s chin as they kiss, can imagine the way it stings. Still, it takes him a few minutes to detach himself, each attempt thwarted by Harry’s grabby hands on his bum and his pitiful little whimpers. 

Fuck, this is why Louis always leaves a day in advance. 

Once he manages to put some distance between them again, his stomach drops at the sight of Harry’s face. The lower half is so pink it looks like he’s got paint on it. There’s even some little pinpricks of blood around his lips that give Louis sympathy pain. 

None of it makes his erection flag in the slightest. 

“Harry, your fucking face,” Louis says, straightening up. Harry hums as he lets Louis go, letting his legs drop open, heels hitting the cupboard doors.

Louis is torn. He’s got a car coming to get him any minute now, his whole day planned. A late lunch date with his sisters, a few meetings and then off to the hotel for a film and room service so he can get some proper rest before tomorrow. 

He’s also got Harry in front of him, all spread out in his open robe, freshly shaved and freshly showered and begging him to do something very specific that Louis usually likes to, like, block time for. 

Out in the bedroom, his phone pings. 

“That’s the car,” Louis says, watching Harry sit up, a determined glint in his eye. 

“Cancel it,” he says.

“It’s already here, though.”

“Cancel it, Lou,” he repeats, more plaintively this time, sliding off the counter to stand in front of Louis, cock bobbing between his legs. 

“Haven’t even finished my shave.”

“You’re not shaving.”

“Oh? I’m not?”

Harry leans in for a kiss and Louis rears back and out of reach. 

“Gotta shave if you want a kiss, sweetheart.” Harry’s face is already messy enough, it’s probably burning like hell from the aftershave, and Louis doesn’t want to make it worse. “It’ll grow back.”

Harry’s nostrils flare, and Louis can tell he’s getting ready to keep arguing. Louis’ eyes are stuck on the skin above his upper lip. It looks rubbed raw, starting to swell a bit, and it stirs something hot inside him.

He’s not really into pain. Not for himself, although he’s willing to endure a smarting palm sometimes, maybe the twinge left after a rough fuck as long as he gets to complain as much as he wants and Harry is willing to make up for it. 

Still, Louis never sets out to get himself intentionally hurt during sex. Harry, though… Harry loves it, and Louis is all about giving him what he likes best. If that happens to be getting his thighs destroyed with beard burn, Louis is usually more than happy to provide.

But not when he’s got a time limit. Not when his manager and PA are both probably already inside the house, waiting for him to make his way downstairs and out to the car. Not when he can’t stay after, both to take care of Harry and to see the result of all his hard work.

With a resigned sigh, Louis reaches out and closes Harry’s robe, tying the knot tightly over his stomach. There’s still a pretty noticeable bulge under the soft fabric, and Louis gives it a squeeze, making Harry groan. 

“Let me finish getting ready,” he says. He steps back and goes back to the sink, he lathers up his face again and picks up the razor.

“You’re serious?” Harry asks behind him. Louis meets his eyes in the mirror and winks. 

“By next week, it’ll be as if I never even touched it.”

“This is the worst day of my life,” Harry grumbles, and Louis laughs. 

.

Louis lets himself into the house as quietly as he can. He knows Harry’s been asleep for a couple of hours now, but Louis can never be too safe when it comes to Harry’s odd sleeping habits. He’s trying to be sneaky here. 

He’s expecting Nina and Sid to come running at him in greeting before he remembers they’re already at the daycare for the week the house’s going to be empty. That’s good — one less factor to consider. 

He kicks off his shoes and stops in the kitchen for a couple of bottles of water before taking the back stairs up to the first floor. The corridors are carpeted, so he’s not as careful to be quiet as he approaches the bedroom. His footfalls are muffled as he moves, anticipation making him ridiculously giddy. 

It’s darker in the room than it is in the rest of the house. Harry likes complete darkness to sleep but always leaves lights on everywhere else. He says it’s for the dogs but Louis knows their house is too big not to be a little creepy, especially if one of them is home alone. He squints inside until he manages to make out Harry on the bed, under the covers, only the top of his messy head stark against the white pillows. 

Louis steps in quietly, inching the door closed until only a tiny sliver of light seeps in, and walks over to the bed. Harry’s snoring, the huffy, barely audible kind of snore that Louis can’t help but to find sweet. He smiles to himself as he sets both water bottles on his bedside table, and then rounds back to the end of the bed and sits. 

The mattress dips, and Harry snorts awake, his head snapping up.

“It’s just me,” Louis says softly, just before Harry can start to panic. He touches Harry’s foot over the covers and feels him relax, sagging into the mattress as it shifts under Louis’ weight when Louis moves closer.

“S’been a week already?” Harry mumbles, rubbing his face on his pillow. Louis laughs, sliding his hands up Harry’s sides.

“No, you numpty,” he says. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“Oh,” Harry sighs. He lets Louis pull the bedding off his body, shivering a bit as he’s uncovered. Then the words seem to finish processing and he grumbles, “You’re the numpty. And you’re supposed to be at your fancy hotel, having some ‘me’ time, aren’t you?”

“Figured I could spend the night after all,” Louis tells him, ignoring his lofty tone, faux-offended even half asleep as he is. “Need to leave before six tomorrow, though.” 

“Small price,” Harry says with a smile in his voice. Louis lets his chilly fingers roam up and down his back, underneath his shirt. He feels Harry shiver again. 

“Don’t be smug,” he says.

Harry says nothing back, but Louis can practically feel the smugness emanating from his body. It’s understandable — he did manage to convince Louis to come home with the sole purpose of eating him out without actually asking for it — but Louis still wants to take him down a notch. 

“Flick the light on for me, love,” he says as he drags Harry’s briefs down and off his legs. He watches Harry stretch to tap on the base of the lamp on his bedside and then hide his face again against the warm light that comes on. Louis is not completely sure what time it is, but he guesses it’s close to midnight. He’ll be dead on his feet tomorrow. 

But then again, they’re not seeing each other for a whole week afterwards. While Louis is at his event, Harry’s going to be starting his own round of meetings before flying on Friday for a shoot. After that it’s a bit fuzzy, but according to their managers Harry won’t be back home until next Thursday, and Louis not until two days after that. And Harry might be a clingy shit, but Louis is not actually that far behind. He can handle a little tired if he gets Harry spread out like this for him in exchange. 

With the lamp on, Harry’s skin looks golden. His shirt is bunched up under his armpits, and he’s naked from the waist down, wiggling his arse at Louis as best he can, probably rubbing his dick against the mattress where Louis can’t see. 

Without warning, Louis brings his palms down hard on the back of Harry’s thighs, effectively stopping him. 

_ “Fuck,” _ Harry groans, and Louis kneads into his flesh roughly, making him gasp, so over the top he sounds like he nearly inhales his pillowcase. He arches into Louis’ hands, lifting up off the bed to bring his bum up, but Louis pushes him down again, watches Harry’s arse flex as he humps his hips into the bed. 

Louis loves watching Harry go pink everywhere he touches him, loves to feel Harry go hot and see him get more and more squirmy the harder Louis holds him down. He wonders if Harry spent all day thinking about him, too. 

_ Probably, _ Louis thinks, smiling down at the mess of curls on Harry’s head, shoulder blades jutting out as he wriggles. Then Louis slides his hands up to his arse proper and Harry freezes. 

“What’re you gonna do?” he asks, trying to look over his shoulder. But then he’s squeezing his eyes shut when Louis’ thumbs dig in, sliding along his crack. There’s sweat already gathering on the small of Harry’s back, Louis can hear him swallowing compulsively as he waits for an answer.

“Dunno,” Louis replies after a few seconds of silence. “What d’you want?”

Harry tries to lift his arse again, but Louis holds him where he is. And fuck, Louis loves how desperate Harry gets when he can’t move. All he can really do is spread his legs open so that Louis can kneel between them more comfortably, which also allows Louis to pin him down better. Harry still wriggles, pretending to try to break free, and Louis leverages himself over him, pushing him deeper into the mattress. 

“You had a pretty clear idea earlier,” he says. “Of what you wanted.” 

“Did I?” Harry pants. He’s probably already hard, trapped between his belly and the bed, but still not gone far enough to start begging, apparently. 

“I think you did,” Louis says, and leans down to press a kiss to one of Harry’s cheeks. Harry jumps underneath him, causing Louis’ stubble to drag against his skin. And there it is — the small hitch in Harry’s breath Louis always likes to hear. 

“Wh— How—”

“Thought you liked it like this?” Louis kisses him again, on the other side, and presses his bristly chin down.

“But you—you shaved it off,” Harry mumbles above him.

“You didn’t see me do it, did you?” 

Of course he didn’t. Harry stormed off in a huff as soon as Louis lathered his face again, and he was taking a call in the office downstairs when Louis hurried out the front door, shouting a goodbye before legging it to the waiting car, beard still intact. He felt like a kid sneaking around, and he had to ignore Harry’s angry calls all day, but it was worth it only for the way Harry’s voice is suddenly deeper, his knuckles white as he grips the sheets by his head.

“S—sneaky,” he says and then moans all low and gruff when Louis rakes his teeth down his cheek before licking a stripe up to soothe the sting. 

“Still can’t remember what you wanted me to do?”

“Louis,” Harry whines, abruptly jerking his hips up and bumping into Louis’ nose. “Come on.”

“Jesus,” Louis mutters, eyes watering as he fights off a sneeze. 

_ “Louis.” _ Now Harry sounds demanding, something he’s in no position to be. Louis bites him a little harder. 

It’s in no way a punishment when Louis knows Harry loves it, but it still shuts him up. Instead of complaining again, he kicks his feet in frustration, and Louis grins against his skin, letting his stubble drag again. 

“You wanted something to remember me by, didn’t you?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not gonna whine about it hurting later, aren’t you?”

Harry doesn’t reply. He’s one-hundred-percent going to whine. But he’s also going to bask in the burn, will fidget as he has to endure sitting around in meetings and interviews, thinking of Louis the whole time. That’s the whole point, after all. 

Louis elbows Harry’s thighs further apart. He nuzzles the crease where Harry’s bum swells, kneading the soft flesh in his hands. He looks up as he trails kisses down Harry’s thigh and sees Harry trying to peek over his shoulder again. Louis can see part of his face, flushed, hair sticking to his temple. 

He slides his chin back up and watches Harry’s eyes flutter shut.

Once he’s back in position, Louis gets comfortable. Their bed is big enough they (plus the dogs) could easily sleep without even touching each other if they weren’t all so bloody cuddly, Louis included. Harry has enough room to starfish to his heart’s content now, while Louis lays down on his stomach between his legs, still fully clothed but he’s on a mission here. His clothes can wait. He puts his hands back on Harry’s bum, presses his fingers down one last time, and spreads him open. 

It always makes Harry seize up a bit. His knees dig into the bed, his feet kick out a little. But Louis doesn’t leave him exposed like that for long. He ducks in and licks a long stripe from his taint up to his hole, pushing his face in, chin bumping against his balls. Harry jerks at that, letting out a little whimper, and Louis does it again. He opens his mouth wide, tongue flat against Harry, lets wetness gather before licking again, and again. 

Harry’s getting louder above him. His moans mix with the slurping sounds Louis makes and that, along with Harry’s taste, and his arse tensing under Louis’ hands, and the way his stubble scratches at sensitive skin the deeper he pushes, makes Louis start to get hard in his joggers. He rubs himself on the bed, not unlike Harry is doing, and nips at all the places he’s scratching raw.

“Louis,” Harry mumbles. “Louis,  _ fuck—” _

It has to hurt, but Harry’s not going to stop him even if it gets too much, so it’s up to Louis to stay above water here. 

He pulls back, vision a little blurry, and looks down. He’s holding Harry open still, and the insides of his thighs look rubbed raw. Red and tender-looking, Louis has to stop himself from pressing back in and making it a little bit worse. 

Harry’s skin is damp, hair matted down with sweat and spit. He’s trying to clench down, squirming again. Louis slides a thumb across most of the mess and presses it against his hole, pink and a little puffy, and Harry bucks up with a tiny cry. 

“Should I?” Louis asks, pressing the question against Harry’s thigh before turning his face so that he can breathe right over where Harry’s the most wet, so that he can drag his bristly cheek against skin that’s already oversensitive and sore. Harry breathes in shaky puffs, warm from sleep and warm from having Louis’ mouth on him. He shifts, legs trying to find purchase, makes as if he’s about to get up on all fours but gives up halfway, drops back down to rock against the bed instead. “Yeah?” Louis insists.

“Yeah, do it,” Harry whines. 

Louis bows back down, licks around Harry’s hole until there’s enough spit for everything to be slippery enough, and then pushes his thumb in. 

Harry clenches, Louis kisses the top of his bum. Harry angles up, Louis slides his free hand between his belly and the bed. 

It’s hot, and damp, and the first thing he feels are Harry’s overgrown pubes, sticky with precome on the tips of his fingers. He buries his hand in as best he can, pulls on them to hear Harry cry out again. With both hands busy, he’s holding Harry down with body weight alone. He’s slid one of Harry’s legs between his own and he finds himself riding Harry’s calf as he fucks him with his thumb, wraps his other hand around Harry’s cock and slides his palm up and down, barely squeezing. He has to bend his neck at an awkward angle to keep using his mouth, but he manages and pulls Harry open so he can lick alongside his thumb, other hand reflexibly closing around Harry’s cock. 

With a shout, Harry jolts his hips up, dislodging Louis as he tucks his knees underneath himself and lifts his arse up in the air. Louis doesn’t waste his breath pretending to scold him, he takes one cheek in one hand, Harry’s dick in the other, and dives back in tongue first. 

It gets louder from there, and able to move more freely now, Harry alternates between trying to fuck into Louis’ loose fist or back into his mouth. Louis takes advantage of the new position to get at skin he couldn’t before, scratching up the insides of Harry’s thighs more thoroughly, mouthing at Harry’s taint and nuzzling in deeper, until his entire face is wet. 

When he comes up for air, Harry is pink. He’s just pink, bright and swollen in places, shinny and dripping. The hair on his thighs, wet and plastered to Harry’s skin as it is, makes it seem like he’s got cute little spirals drawn all over him, and Louis runs a hand over them, strangely mesmerized by the new designs that appear. 

“Lou, almost _ —  _ Don’t stop,” Harry’s panting, and Louis realises the hand he has on Harry’s cock has slowed down. He sits up on his heels and starts jerking Harry in earnest, pressing his clothed dick against Harry’s sore bum, rubbing himself there as he leans down to drag his chin anywhere he can reach on Harry’s back. 

Harry gasps, pushes back against Louis’s hips, and comes all over the bed, jerking and shivering and mumbling nonsense into his pillow. He rolls away from the wet spot before falling back onto the mattress, Louis trapped half underneath him, his hard dick squashed under Harry’s arse. 

“Ow,” Harry says. 

“That’s my line,” Louis grunts, rolling Harry back onto his belly and climbing on top of him. He hears Harry complaining about being back on the gross spot, but ignores him in favour of getting his cock out of his joggers and pulling on it in short jerks, his other hand spreading one of Harry’s cheeks open again. 

There are visible scratches on Harry’s skin, thin lines going up his thighs and getting all tangled in the place Louis reveals. He knows he’s going to be getting texts about it the entire week. About it hurting, about his pants making him feel all chaffed, about not being able to sit properly on the plane. And he knows Harry’s going to ask for it again as soon as it heals. It’s something to remember Louis by, after all.

“Gonna come on me? There?” Harry asks, and he’s peeking at Louis again. Except this time Louis is kneeling above him, and he can see the state he left Harry’s face in this morning. Louis shakes his head.

“Turn around, love.”

Harry’s even pinker on his front. He’s got creases from the sheets all over his chest and belly, his nipples are poking out, his happy trail is tacky with his own come. His cock, still half hard, looks flushed and used and pretty among the nest of curls on Harry’s crotch. Louis could easily mark him on this side as well. Could lick up from his navel to his chest, suck bruises into his neck that won’t fade for days. Could make him come so many times Harry won’t even think about touching himself for the entire week. 

It’s that thought that sends Louis over the edge, and he comes all over Harry’s front, adding to the mess on Harry’s stomach, making Harry’s breath hitch and his face flush a little darker. 

Louis wants to kiss him, but he has enough sense to remember he can’t fuck up his face any more than he’s done already, not until after the shoot on Friday. He settles for dropping a kiss right in the middle of Harry’s chest before dropping down on his side next to him.

When he looks up at Harry’s face, Harry’s grinning. 

“Don’t be smug,” Louis reminds him. Harry gathers him up in his arms and says nothing. He’d be capable of going back to sleep just as he is, so Louis keeps pinching his belly at intervals to keep him awake as they come down, slides his hand down, around his thigh and behind his balls to touch the little scratches and bumps he left behind, making Harry hiss. 

“Still the worst day of your life?” Louis asks eventually, when he’s getting ready to get on his feet and clean up. Harry wriggles closer.

“Knew you’d get stuck on that.”

Louis rakes blunt nails across Harry’s skin. Harry jumps.

Later, when he’s in their bathroom washing up, he happens to look up at the mirror. It’s not his sleepy eyes that catch his attention this time, or the lines that he’s been starting to take notice of lately. It’s the red, swollen skin around his mouth. The rash he can see starting to form underneath his beard. 

He curses under his breath. 

Leave it to Harry to make Louis give himself beard burn somehow. His shave will have to wait.


End file.
